


Holy and Unhallow'd

by printers_devil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: EXPLICIT HANDHOLDING, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Loyalty, Masochism, Mercibert Weekend, Roleplay, Sadism, Undernegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil
Summary: He was a villain, assuredly, but he was not this kind of villain; his fantasies were just fantasies, nothing more. They were notmeantto come to life in his office on a pleasant autumn morning.In the course of settling his doubts about Mercedes's devotion to Edelgard and the Empire, Hubert develops another, darker interest in her—one that Mercedes very much reciprocates in kind.Written for Mercibert Weekend.
Relationships: Mercedes von Martritz/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	Holy and Unhallow'd

**Author's Note:**

> It's time for another round of "someone is completely in love with Mercedes von Martritz and, Wile E. Coyote-like, runs into the cement wall of her intimacy issues thinking it's a train tunnel." 
> 
> Now, mind you, I think Hubert is an absolutely tremendous dork. I also think he is a tremendous sexual sadist, and a bottom. (Thank you for coming to my TED talk.) He has no fuckin clue he's being topped to within an inch of his life in this fic, and it is in this spirit we go into ooooooh sexxxy loyalty assurance time roleplay. 
> 
> Thanks to signalbeam for giving this a proofread.

Hubert told himself that he was keeping an eye on a potential spy, at first. Mercedes and King Dimitri had been close, after all. He watched Mercedes hover around Jeritza, laugh at Caspar's jokes, soothe Bernadetta's nervous moods. Her ability as a healer outstripped Linhardt's by far, and she was industrious at her work. She _always_ had a smile at the ready, whether she was pulling a tray of sweets out of the oven or pushing someone's organs back into their body. 

And when letters came from her old classmates, she did not reply. Hubert read all of them.

 _Mercie, just come back,_ the Dominic girl, whom Hubert remembered as a mage of little power but great skill, wrote. _Think about what you're doing! I miss you so much. I don't want us to be on opposite sides. What if we meet? I don't want to watch you die!_

 _There will always_ _be_ _a place for you with House Gautier,_ Sylvain wrote. _Faerghus needs you._ I _need you. I'll be waiting, beautiful._

That Mercedes had so resolutely turned her back on her friends spoke of a devotion Hubert could not fault, even if it was to her brother and not to Edelgard's grand cause. That Mercedes had betrayed the country that had sheltered her and the faith that had nurtured her to be with Jeritza should have been delicious enough to satisfy him. That her face went carefully blank every time Lady Edelgard spoke of how to administer a conquered Faerghus should have been all the entertainment he needed of her. 

It wasn't. For all those smiles, for all her gentle words, she was so tightly sewn up inside herself. Hubert wanted to find the seams in her and pick the thread out stitch by stitch, then watch her come undone. It would be a challenge. 

Which, Hubert told himself, with the clarity that followed twenty minutes of self-abuse to the thought of Mercedes von Martritz _coming undone_ at his wicked hands, was precisely why he should not do it. The energy he might have spent inventing ways to bully one of the Imperial army's best healers was better spent terrorizing Lady Edelgard's enemies. He could not afford a distraction, not in the middle of a war. 

_*_

Distraction found him some days later, and never mind what he'd intended.

Hubert had taken Seteth's old office as his own. It felt appropriately sacrilegious to take his morning coffee, put his feet up on the furniture, and plot the Church's demise in this, the place from which the whole of the faith had been administered. If he also had an excellent view of the pegasus knights' patrol routes out the window, that was no one's business but his own. 

He worked undisturbed all morning. It was widely understood that he took no meetings before noon, not for anything short of Emperor Edelgard's death or the Knights of Seiros at the gates—

—except by Mercedes, apparently, who entered without knocking, a basket under her arm. 

"May I help you?" Hubert said. 

"Edelgard asked me to bring you some things," said Mercedes, unloading the contents of the basket on the table at the center of room. "She said you worked so late last night, and she just couldn't bear to think that you'd skipped breakfast." 

No matter how many times Hubert asked Lady Edelgard not to concern herself with his health—no matter. "My emperor is generous, as always," he said. 

"She's such a good friend." Mercedes looked sad for a moment, but the expression vanished like a cloud drifting away from the sun, and she looked around his office. "Oh, look at this place. It's so dark! I'm going to open the window, if you don't mind?" 

She didn't wait for permission, but came around behind his desk to throw open the windows to to the morning light. Hubert might have protested, but Mercedes wore a pale purple dress today. The neckline made her breasts look enormous. She was saying something, but Hubert's gaze was caught on the sway of her hips as she tidied things on his bookshelves that did not need tidying. 

Now was his chance to send her away. He was going to send her away, and go back to his work. There were so many things to be done.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, turning around and beaming at him, though he had not asked her for anything. 

Surely—surely taking a moment to make her nervous would not hurt anything. It would give him fodder to imagine what it might be like to make her cry. 

"Tell me, how have you found the Empire's hospitality? Come. Sit." Hubert asked. "After all, you were raised in Faerghus. If anyone has mistreated you, I would like to know about it." 

Mercedes could not have looked more startled if Hubert's paperweight had begun talking. He did not encourage long visits. The only other place in the office to sit was an old three-legged stool. He had personally sliced half an inch off the bottom of one of the legs to make anyone who thought they were going to make a nuisance of themselves as uncomfortable as possible. Mercedes sat gracefully, and after exactly one wobble, she did not tilt again. 

"Everyone has been wonderful to me," said Mercedes. "

"Good. You don't have any friends you miss?" 

"There is one person I miss terribly," Mercedes admitted. "Ah, that reminds me, I wanted to thank you—or Ferdinand?—for getting my and Emile's mother out of Faerghus. She says the house in Enbarr is lovely." 

"That was Ferdinand's doing, thank him. You're avoiding my question," Hubert said, and he put some ice in his tone. "Tell me about this person." 

"If this is about my loyalty...." 

"It isn't," Hubert said firmly. "If I wanted to test your loyalty, I have other means at my disposal."

"Oh?" 

Her eyes were wide. There was no fear in them, but instead, an odd light. A strange and singular focus. 

"Of course," he said. "Finding and punishing traitors is one of my many duties." 

Hubert did all of his fantasizing strictly between the hours of nine and ten at night. He was, therefore, not imagining this: her breathing sped up, and her cheeks were stained pink. With nerves? Perhaps. 

"For mages," he began.

She nodded fervently before he'd gotten a third word out, leaning forward on the stool. It still did not wobble. 

He swallowed hard and made another attempt: "For mages, I have an ingenious little device that uses their own power to cause them pain. It's fastened here"—and he drew a line across his own neck—"and converts any spell they might try to cast into the most agonizing sensation. I'm told one can feel it in one's teeth. It's much more efficient than employing someone to keep them Silenced constantly." 

"Goodness," she said. "That does sound awful." 

Her eyes darted away from his, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Both of her small hands fisted in her skirts. 

"But torture, while gratifying, rarely produces true answers," he went on, determined to see her squirm. "Every traitor makes mistakes eventually. I already have your correspondence searched and read. If someone in Lady Edelgard's direct service received very intimate letters from the heir to House Gautier, disguised as trade circulars... that would be cause for great suspicion, wouldn't it?" 

The delicate skin of Mercedes's cheeks flushed, and she hunched her shoulders. The motion made her cleavage deeper, and for this reason alone Hubert was very glad he wore loose trousers. 

"Hubert," Mercedes said, "I—I never responded to them. Sylvain was a good friend to me, and I cared for him, but I didn't write back, I swear it."

Hubert stood from his desk, shoving his chair back on the floor with a loud scrape that made Mercedes cringe. The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine. This wasn't necessary. He knew full well she hadn't responded; she proved her devotion to the cause with every battle. All he had to do was assure her of this, bid her a good day, and exorcise these urges with the palm of his hand, as he always did. 

"You can't prove to me that you didn't," he said instead, looming over her. "I can't prove that you did. What a curious impasse." 

Mercedes bowed her head under his scrutiny. Hubert was not so caught in the moment that he failed to see the gleam of triumph in her eyes before she did so, and he seized her chin and tilted it up so he could search her face. He ran a gloved thumb down her cheek, over powdery-soft skin, imagining what it might feel on his bare fingers. Her lower lip was pleasantly full, and he dragged a finger over it, testing its firmness.

"Tell me, Mercedes," Hubert said, "if I were to ask you to prove yourself, how would you do it?" 

Without a moment's hesitation, Mercedes opened her mouth for his thumb, drawing it into her mouth. She met his eyes unblinkingly as she did so. Her tongue curled around the finger slowly, steadily, and he knew skill and confidence when he felt it. His practical experience in such matters was limited—by necessity. He kept his entanglements brief and hygienic. All of his loyalty was for Edelgard and Edelgard alone. 

He withdrew his thumb and thrust three fingers into her mouth instead. He did not even have to move them. Her head bobbed eagerly on his hand, her mouth so wet it soaked through his gloves in places. When he added a fourth, she moaned, the sound so high and breathy he felt drunk from it. 

"Are you so loyal that you'll kneel for me?" Hubert asked. He stroked himself through his trousers and thrust his fingers deep, so that he felt them hit the back of her throat. She gagged, her hands clenching in her skirt. Then he held them there, watching her tremble for him as she tried not to choke, her eyes on his the entire time. "If I bent you over my desk and lifted your skirts, would you let me?" 

Mercedes nodded very slightly, as much as she was able to, trapped by his hand. He withdrew his fingers and took her by her long, flaxen hair and forced her down onto her knees, shoving her face against his covered groin.

She made a surprised noise, but recovered her bearings: her breath was hot against him as she mouthed him through his trousers. It had been so long since anyone else had touched him there. The pleasure was astonishing, even through two layers of fabric. He did not even have to undo his own trousers—Mercedes had them laid open in moments, and made a delighted noise when she pulled his cock free. 

But then she sat back on her heels, looking up at him with those blue eyes. "I didn't respond to the letters," she murmured, stroking him slowly. 

"Don't lie to me," Hubert said. 

She ran her tongue over the head of him, and she did not break eye contact for a moment, not when she eased back his foreskin, and not when she took him into her mouth, carefully, as though she was handling something precious.

Hubert forced his hand down the bodice of her dress, groping at her heavy breasts. Every part of her was soft and yielding, but for her nipples, which were hard and beaded against his hand when he found one to pinch and tug. She made a surprised noise around his cock. He was going to defile her so thoroughly she would never be clean again—he could not think of five times they'd spoken alone together apart from this morning, they hardly knew one another, and here she was, bobbing her head up and down on him, taking him deep and then coming off him with a polite cough.

Then Mercedes did something improbable with her tongue and the head of his cock, and Hubert's coherent thoughts came to an end. His world contracted to a point; a wyvern could have burst through the door, and he would not have noticed, so long as her hot, wet mouth did not stop working him. He buried his hands in her hair again, stilling her. 

She looked up at him with hazed eyes. Hubert's confidence immediately wavered. He was a villain, assuredly, but he was not this kind of villain; his fantasies were just fantasies, nothing more. They were not _meant_ to come to life in his office on a pleasant autumn morning and let him fuck their face and come down their throat. 

"Mercedes," he said, "do you truly want—"

"Yes, Hubert, I do," she replied. She lifted her head up, and there was perfect certainty in her gaze.

What had _she_ been thinking about during the long nights, to allow this little display to go as far as it had? Like brother, like sister, Hubert supposed. Jeritza had always been a bit of a pervert. 

He released Mercedes's hair. 

As though the exchange had not happened at all, she ran her tongue up the length of his cock, from the base to the very tip. Hubert's knees went weak. She moved on him, working what she could not take in her mouth with a firm hand. 

He braced himself on the desk with a hand still wet from that mouth. His balls were already tight, ready to come in her mouth, on her face, her tits, wherever should please him when he reached the point, which was fast approaching. He was not going to last. 

But she paused before he climaxed, breathing hard. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave him a small, contented smile. No. If this was the game she wanted to play with him, he would play, and he would win. She would not _toy_ with him.

He took her by the hair and forced his cock back into her mouth, hit the back of her throat. He moved her head up and down on him, and she choked, and made strangled, startled noises around his cock that made his head spin with pleasure. He was so hard, and she felt so good. 

Her eyes welled up with tears from the effort. When buried himself in her mouth one last time and spilled down her throat, she dutifully swallowed his come.

He felt as though he'd been punched in the chest. Mercedes's sweet face was a wreck. 

"We'll—we'll need to carry on until I'm sure of your loyalty, of course," Hubert said unsteadily—hopefully—as he tucked himself away. 

"Of course," Mercedes said, casting her eyes downward again. It was a very good facsimile of shame. "I won't let you down." 

It was settled, then. If the Goddess was real, Hubert hoped she was watching this. He had no pressing appointments. He would not be getting hard again anytime soon, but there were plenty of other things he could do to Mercedes in the meantime. 

"Lay down on my desk, then," Hubert said. His voice sounded rough to his own ears, and she scrambled to her feet. "Pull up your dress. Show me what else belongs to the Empire." 

*

It could not possibly be this easy, Hubert thought that afternoon, during the weekly budgetary meeting. His mind drifted back to the thought of Mercedes's throat working around him, how she'd pressed her fist to her mouth and cried out when he put a fourth finger inside of her. When he'd entered her, she'd struggled feebly against him, until he'd threatened to use that device he'd described to her. 

She had never shown any interest in him before—why now. What had changed? _Was_ Mercedes a spy? Had he missed a spy so close to Lady Edelgard? No. She was absentminded, silly, and baked little cakes that went perfectly with his coffee. He trusted his judgment on this matter. 

"You seem distracted," Edelgard said under her breath to him. Count Bergliez and Count Hevring had been arguing at improbable volume and incredible speed for the past five minutes about something Hubert did not care about. 

"It is nothing, Your Majesty," Hubert replied. "A triviality." 

Edelgard gave him a curious look, but did not press the issue. 

Mercedes let him do so many awful things to her after that day. She stammered so beautifully and protested her innocence at length. When he was particularly rough with her, she cried and told him he was an awful fiend, but she still spread her legs gladly for him. He found her in her room in the mornings and shoved her down over her dressing table. He fucked her after battles while she was still in her bloodied uniform. 

It was less of a distraction than Hubert had feared. Lady Edelgard found no fault with his work, which was all that truly mattered. Only Dorothea had had the nerve to remark that he looked more relaxed, in very insinuating tones; if anyone had said anything to Mercedes about a change in her demeanor, she did not share it with him. 

She did not share much of anything with anyone, so far as he could tell. She was cordial with Edelgard, and seemed to enjoy Petra and Dorothea's company. Hubert caught himself watching her from the corner of his eye, waiting for her to slip and say something uncharitable to someone, but she was rarely outright rude, only firm. 

He allowed himself to be fascinated by it. He knew exactly what had happened to House Bartels, but he could not imagine what conditions could have produced a saint like Mercedes and a monster like Jeritza.

*

"And did you _know,"_ Ferdinand said, "that Mercedes was 'adopted' by a man who only wanted to marry her Crest off?" He picked up a very heavy piece of stone off the ground and hefted it into the wheelbarrow, the broad span of his bare chest gleaming in the sunlight. 

Hubert picked up a much smaller piece of rubble from the pile and followed suit. There was no point in interrupting Ferdinand von Aegir when he was on a tear about something. He simply enjoyed the view. 

"And that he plagues her with new arranged marriages every month—why, I cannot think of anything less noble than using an innocent woman to attempt to marry into nobility."

Hubert read Mercedes's adoptive father's letters, and then he passed them on. It was none of his business. He said nothing and continued to enjoy the view.

"I am going to Fhirdiad, and I am going to put a stop to this," Ferdinand concluded.

"How very gallant of you. I'm sure Mercedes will be very grateful."

"I am not doing it for her gratitude, Hubert! I am doing it because it's _right_."

Had Hubert been in his right mind, he would have been discouraging Ferdinand from going off into enemy territory in the middle of a war just to find blackmail material on one insignificant wool merchant. Ferdinand was too valuable too valuable to waste on one woman. Hubert might have had an agent in Fhirdiad find the information within hours, without so much as lifting a finger. 

_Jealousy is unbecoming of you,_ he thought. He had no claim on Mercedes. And yet: for some reason, Mercedes had told this to Ferdinand and not to him. Let Ferdinand take the risks, then.

*

Occasionally, Hubert caught Jeritza watching him with a peculiar look in his eye. 

Very well. Let Jeritza stare. Let Jeritza know exactly what Hubert was doing with his precious sister. 

Hubert had spent an entire tedious year playing the good student, whereas Jeritza had hardly made it six months pretending he wasn't a mad dog. Hubert had to deal with requisitions, mountains of paperwork, his spies' delicate temperaments, their futile search for the professor, Edelgard's self-doubt and black moods. All Jeritza had to do was go where he was pointed and kill until Edelgard called him to heel. 

This, too, he took out on Mercedes. 

When he was especially annoyed with her brother, he held Mercedes down with black magic, her limbs spread wide to the four corners of his bed. He fucked her with delicate, inky tendrils until her face went empty and she could only sob and beg brokenly for him to let her come. It was immensely satisfying. 

*

He had exactly one more moment of doubt, on a night where he'd been particularly cruel to her. She'd come to him that night in her old Officer's Academy uniform, her hair tied just as he remembered it. The buttons of her blouse had strained in some new and interesting places. She still had the shawl she'd worn in those days, and he'd used it to bind her wrists. 

The uniform now lay in shreds in the corner. When it was finished, they lay side-by-side in the bed in the room that had been Hubert's when he was a student, his head on her shoulder. By the light of the last candle left burning, he had an exquisite view of the bruises and bites he'd left on her neck. He'd broken her skin in places; he'd tasted blood. She shrugged lightning aside with a roll of her shoulders, but she marked so easily and beautifully. 

She'd been drifting off to sleep in his arms, but she shivered at his touch. "Yes?" she asked, her pale eyelids fluttering open. Her eyes were still red and raw from weeping, but her body was relaxed against his.

"You come to me for this," he said, before he—of all people—could lose his nerve. "Why?"

Mercedes looked thoughtful. "I suppose... well, I wanted to do something just for myself. I didn't think you'd go along with it so nicely, but I'm happy you did." 

"I see," Hubert said. He did not see at all. 

"You only love Edelgard," she said, "which helps! You won't become attached. It's all right if you don't care for me."

The matter of his love for Edelgard was a raw and tender spot, and he could not say he appreciated Mercedes pressing her finger into it. 

"So you can use me all you like, and with impunity," Hubert replied.

"Yes, that's the whole of it, I think." She patted his chest. "Please don't ruin it, Hubert. We're having such a good time."

Hubert sat up and blew out the candle. In the close dark of the little room, they might have been any two people—two people who cared for one another, even. 

"Very well, then," he said. "Use me. I'm yours to command." 

He did what he never did in the light: he kissed her on the mouth.

Mercedes did not respond, not at first—his past liaisons had not involved much kissing. He was untutored in the art. Then she came to his aid, turning his clumsy efforts into a slow, deep kiss. It made him feel feverish. He'd been wise to avoid this. Her hands cradled his face and stroked through his hair with perfect gentleness. She sucked at his bottom lip, bit him there until he was sure she'd be the one making him bleed, then soothed the hurt with her tongue. 

He pressed his knuckles into her spine, clinging to her. _You do not deserve this,_ he thought. _If anyone you cared for knew what you did in the dark, they would not touch you like this._ It was good, then, that he did not care for Mercedes, that Mercedes did not care for him, and that she had seen his every horrible inclination and had not turned away from him. 

"On top of me, please," Mercedes murmured, breaking the kiss only long enough to speak. 

Hubert obliged her, and continued to oblige her, until they were both satisfied. 

This time, the silence between them afterward was not replete and contented, but tense. 

"I just can't be happy," Mercedes said suddenly, into that concealing darkness. Her voice was the barest whisper. "The Church took me in when Mother and I were starving and alone. All I wanted was to be a cleric, serving the Goddess at Garreg Mach. Then that man came to the Church, and I didn't fight it... I accepted it as the Goddess's will that I should be married off to someone who didn't care for me, just like Mother was, twice. But Lady Edelgard wants to make a world where things could be different for someone like me."

He had wanted to pick Mercedes apart at her seams. All it had taken was a bit of tenderness. He had not planned for what would come after he'd succeeded, when she'd put her most secret thoughts in his hands. He had no talent for reassuring words. His own father's disappointment at an only heir who had not inherited House Vestra's ancestral Crest of Indech was nothing to what he knew of Baron Bartels, let alone to being bought like a prize sow. 

"I'm being silly, of course!" Mercedes went on, "Everyone _is_ so kind to me here! I should be happy. I don't have to worry about that awful man anymore, I have Emile, and Mother is safe in Enbarr—"

"You aren't being silly," Hubert said. 

She fell quiet. He could only see the barest outline of her face, but he imagined he saw surprise there. 

"Thank you," she said. 

An idea occurred to him: "And if you're using me to punish yourself, there's nothing to punish." 

Mercedes sat up very suddenly. "Why, I just can't sleep in these beds anymore," she said. "I'm going back to my room. Don't worry, I like the things we do. Good night, Hubert." 

Before she could get up, he caught her hand and squeezed it hard. It seemed the right thing to do. Wordlessly, she squeezed back. He shut his eyes and listened to the soft rustling sounds of her dressing in the spare clothes she'd brought. He did not look up until she'd shut the door behind her, leaving him quite alone with his thoughts. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find your pal PD on twitter at [@a_printersdevil](https://twitter.com/a_printersdevil).


End file.
